The Fall

April 3, 2009
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Swaying in the breeze the big tree stood,
Hacking, sawing, fall it would.

Dragged away to the mill,
Sawed to pieces, certainly it will.

Into a barn and posted high,
Left alone to dry, and die.

Down it comes into the pile,
Falling, falling, as if a mile.

Now it stands all by itself,
Sitting on that worthless shelf.

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